The Best of Intentions
by Golden Snowflake
Summary: It was just a mistunderstanding. Really. But that doesn't change the fact that it will haunt Dib's nightmares forever. Angst/ZADR


- Chapter 1 -

- xXx -

Three days after It, Dib stopped eating.

He tried before - he even managed to eat a bowl or two of cereal the morning after. He scooped at it automatically for a few moments and then began to eat with more gusto when he realized that he was starving.

Pain had a way of doing that to people, it seemed.

At first, he tried to function. He went to bed and slept soundly - more soundly than he had in as long as he could remember. He stared at the ceiling as the cold of the air sank into his skin and listened to the sounds of the house: the drone of the TV, the buzz of the microwave and the thrum of Gaz's footsteps as she got things out of the fridge and set them on the table. He listened to her walk back and forth for a few minutes before disappearing into the living room. He sat up almost robotically.

The scabbing cuts in his sides pulled open when he shifted in his seat, sending sparks of pain up his sides and making him gasp softly before catching himself. Gaz had looked up from her food and glared at him suspiciously. When he refused to meet her eyes, she scooted her chair back and got up in disgust. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore and set his spoon down.

The walls began to crumble as he stood in front of the mirror and carefully pulled his clothing off.

Ugly, black bruises marred his pale hips and wrists, and deep, swollen punctures in crescent-shaped patterns covered his neck and shoulders. He turned around to look over his shoulder and dull horror set in as his gold eyes flickered across the angry red scratches and cuts that crisscrossed down his back. The scabs cracked and tiny brownish flakes fluttered down past his ankles to dot the grungy floor.

As he twisted further to get a better look, agony ripped through his torso. He hissed through his teeth and his breakfast churned in his stomach.

Through the blurry pain of the hot water on his torn skin came a crawling, warm sensation from inside him. Dib swallowed heavily at the dry lump in his throat and dug his fingernails into the soft, slimy outer layer of the bar of soap, resting his throbbing head against the side of the shower.

Dark red oozed down his thigh as he stared at the soapy water rushing between his feet. His eyes moved to the whirl of bubbles above the drain, filled with the occasional tendril of pink as the last of the scabbing on his lower back was rinsed off.

He wanted to vomit when it turned dark red.

The paranormal investigator squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, his head spinning beneath the unshakable throbbing in his temples. He pushed the horror back down before it could creep up his throat and pierce the fog in his mind. He didn't dare let his mind linger on the way his torn insides rubbed against each other when he walked or the taste of foreign saliva lingering behind his molars.

He couldn't let himself acknowledge it. Relive it.

At first trying to act like everything was okay turned out to be enough to keep him occupied. He spent a few long minutes standing in front of the mirror, trying to breathe. He slid an old, worn tank top on over his screaming back and then pulled on a long-sleeved shirt to hide his purple, swollen wrists. He found a baggy pair of pajama pants and carefully pulled them over his boxers. The base of his spine ached horridly. He took six ibuprofen and grabbed a can of pop before joining Gaz in the living room.

At first, the look she gave him felt like it was going to burn a hole in his skull. But after a moment she gave up and turned back to the TV.

Ignoring her questioning stare got easier after that.

Dib waited for time to start going faster. Every second was blatantly obvious. Every minute felt like an eternity.

The afternoon slipped by, and as the sky began to darken, he felt an inexplicable pang of anxiety.

When Gaz went into the study to check for any new levels of the videogame she'd been working on, Dib followed her. She squinted one eye and growled threateningly at him, but he grabbed a book off of the shelf and sat down in the corner anyway. He didn't want to be alone.

The second day was almost sadistically similar to the first. He stared up at the ceiling and waited. Waited for it to be a nightmare; some sort of hallucination. His breakfast was dry and flavorless in his mouth, and the television was oddly uninteresting.

The only difference was when he went to the bathroom. It ripped his insides back open and left him digging his fingernails into his knees, tears streaming down his face and neck. He had to stuff toilet paper into his underwear to catch all of the blood. He took seven ibuprofen and flopped down in front of the TV. Mysterious Mysteries was on for three hours straight, and he sat up a little straighter. When it started to hurt his lower back, he rolled onto his side instead. The first episode was one he'd seen and taken copious amounts of notes on before. He did his best to pay attention as he pulled the throw off of the back of the couch and curled into a ball.

The second episode was newer, and every time his mind tried to close in around him, he closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the ache in his sides and willing himself to be calm. His heart thrummed unsettlingly in his chest as the images flashed and changed on the screen. Dib began to realize that it wasn't just going to go away the longer he waited.

The third episode was brand new. It was about a family's firsthand account of a bigfoot shuffling into their yard every night and eating their garbage. He made a little sound of annoyance in his throat when he realized he wasn't paying attention and shifted, squinting at the TV.

Half an hour into it his eyelids began to get heavy. He snuggled into the back of the couch and swallowed.

The buzz of the suspenseful music in the background rose and fell, and the little girl's nasal voice went on and on about the shape she'd seen outside of her window when she got up to get a glass of water in the middle of the night. Fuzzy darkness was filling his mind and Dib unconsciously furrowed his brows.

_Teeth._

Dib jolted awake, sitting straight up and looking frantically around. There were commercials on about deodorant.

Slowly lowering back onto his elbows, he pursed his lips into the shape of an _o_, breathing out very slowly. He settled back onto his side and yanked the blanked tighter.

The room faded again as the sky began to darken outside.

_Weight pinning him to the cold steel floor. Claws like needles slicing slowly and deliberately through his hips, blood welling up and dripping onto the ground._

Dib screamed.

The floor appeared slowly and he abruptly smacked into it. Gasping for breath, he flew to his hands and knees, looking around. Gaz glowered at him from the stairway.

"Dib, what is _wrong_ with you? You're acting even stupider than usual."

"I-I-"

The teenager sat up, blinking and straightening his glasses.

"I'm fine, Gaz. I just … had a nightmare that the aliens who abducted me when I was little came back."

His sister narrowed her eyes, a familiar scowl settling back onto her features.

"I wish they would come back for you," she muttered under her breath.

Dib's shoulders sagged as she turned around and stomped back up the stairs. She'd believed him.

He slowly pulled his knees up to his chest, gritting his teeth as his vision blurred and tears slipped down his face.

He sat in the shower until the hot water ran out, digging his fingers neurotically into his shoulders and scrubbing obsessively until his head was sore and every inch of his skin tingled. He stepped out and sat on the rug with a towel wrapped around him and stared at the floor, trying to forget everything, to quiet his mind. He kept digging his nails into the fabric and pulling it tighter and tighter around him. It still didn't override the unshakable tightness he felt in his stomach.

The moon gleamed in through his blinds, casting horizontal shadows over the posters and monitors. He had shut off all surveillance first thing when he's gotten home and had boxed up the hundreds of pages of notes he had taken. A pile of photos, each carefully placed face-down, sat in his garbage can. His eyes kept wandering to it and he had to turn to face the opposite wall.

He couldn't sleep.

He didn't dare.

Hugging his knees to him, Dib blinked and gazed numbly at the foot of his bed. He was stiff and sore, and his mind alternated between racing, frenetic fear and a sluggish inability to process his surroundings. He reminded himself to be _here_, in the moment. Here where his breathing was steady and even, here where his stomach was uneasy but still.

Here, where he knew he was safe and knew he would live to see tomorrow arrive.

He spent the night leafing through articles on vampires and ghosts and the Nazi's freak experiment that had made a race of zombie-dogs that some believed were still alive today, hunting down unfortunate Jews that happened to take a stroll to late into the night. There were times when he rested his chin on his palm and began to get tired, but he'd get up and pace for a bit, reciting the Swollen Eyeball's code of conduct until he felt wide awake again. For the first part, the night felt endless. Then suddenly the sun had risen and Gaz was up and making noises downstairs.

He couldn't make himself eat.

As the day went on, it got harder and harder to stay awake. It was the last day of Thanksgiving Break, and Gaz was making the most of it by watching all the mindless cartoons she could fit into her vigorous gaming schedule. She spat an insult at him here and there, but Dib couldn't bring himself to uttering any kind of normal-sounding response. His sides were hurting again where deep gashes were grudgingly beginning to heal, and his insides were also beginning to repair themselves, causing the occasional sudden twinge of pain that made him gasp and jump. He couldn't shake the feeling of being pinned beneath body weight and of the unbearable agony of being invaded in the most horrific way. He downed can after can of soda, willing his stomach to hold it down when his mind crept in on itself and the horrible memories threatened to surface. He made himself focus on Gaz's computer screen, at the ever-changing score and the maddeningly repetitive sounds of devil piggies being shot at by her custom-designed character.

He felt like he was going crazy.

"Don't think I didn't hear you last night."

Surprised, Dib looked up. Gaz was still facing the television, her game paused on the coffee table. She seemed pleased enough by his odd silence to periodically talk to him.

"Tomorrow's a school day. You're gonna have to go to bed like a normal human being unless you wanna get yourself detention."

Dib swallowed and stared at the floor. He didn't want to think about it.

When he crawled under the covers and stared up at the ceiling, he was filled with overwhelming fear. He knew his subconscious wasn't going to spare him the way waking hours did. It had been consuming him all the more ferociously because he had been trying to avoid it, and as he tried to keep his breathing even and his mind on himself and his room and on _safety_, he knew tonight he would fail at holding it off.

He knew that there was no escaping it any longer.

When he feels himself begin to cry, soft, feeble sobs that sound more like a frightened child's than his, he doesn't know where he is. He doesn't feel safe and comforted and okay. He can't tell if he's asleep or not anymore and he knows that it really doesn't matter.

His mind consumes him before he knows it's happening, and he understands, deep down, that he is right where he wants with every bone in his body never to be.

His memory is cruelly accurate. Every word, every snarl. Every bullet and every robotic leg is accounted for where it pings against metal walls and leaves gaping wounds in the poorly-decorated upholstery. Every surge of triumph and every momentary fear that his enemy is going to outwit him feels as if he's experiencing it for the first time.

Dib watches as the weapon he has crafted painstakingly is swatted away as if it's nothing more than a squirtgun.

Zim's crimson eyes narrow and a grin breaks out across his face that makes Dib feel sick down to his very core.

The blow to his head is sudden and makes a sickening crack, and the icy steel of the floor smashes into him as he crumples onto it. Dib frowns and balls his fists, spitting out a useless insult as the Irken's soft steps echo out in the silence. He says that Zim will never defeat him, that Zim will never enslave the human race. That Zim will never, _ever_ win.

"But Dib-stink," Zim hisses, and his pak legs spear into the fabric of Dib's sleeves, pinning his arms down as he leans in to whisper into Dib's ear: "I already _have_."

Dib spits a wad of blood out of his mouth and suddenly registers the sound of ripping cloth. The room is spinning and there is weight on him and suddenly it is very, very cold.

It is only in this state of half-conscious agony that he feels it: the claws slicing languidly into his sides; the cool-dead breath against his throbbing neck. It doesn't register that it could be anything else than what it is. The alien purr rolls from the throat against his shoulder blade and down his back, and grim confirmation sets in at the push, impossible in girth and then red and sharp when it begins to tear into him. He wants darkness to blot it out but there's oxygen going to his brain now and he lingers there, shadows pooling at the edges of his vision as an agony like nothing imaginable rips through him coupled with hollow growls and a thick, guttural purring that makes his own hoarse scream sound far, far away. It goes on for hell, for impossibly long, for seemingly forever as blood oozes down his leg and claws gouge his heaving stomach and Zim moans against his ear.

Exactly seven seconds pass before Dib faints.


End file.
